


Writing On The Body

by Callistra



Category: Dr Who - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Writing on the Body, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callistra/pseuds/Callistra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not exactly arguing with you about it," she pointed out. "Hurry up, in fact. That brush of yours has convinced me this might be a good idea."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing On The Body

                As always, she is cynical to begin with, then hesitant, and finally, enthusiastic.

                “For god’s sake, Jack, you want to do what?” she demanded, her eyes tight with disgust.  “You’re always making these weird suggestions, are you fucking with me again?”

                “It’s not that big a deal, Donna,” he said, rolling onto his back. “It will be fun. You’ll enjoy it. I’ll make sure you’re nice and warm the whole time,” he promised. He folded his hands behind his head, enjoying the simple pleasure of her scent and pillows. She propped her head up and leaned against him, one knee claiming his thigh as hers. Experimentally, he tried to purr.  

                “What, like, is it going to be permanent?” she asked. He grinned at the idea while his throat tickled from the effort.

                “No, not permanent. I’ll get some body paint.” He turned to look at her, his gaze skimming her. “Gold, I think. I’ll get some gold body paint and write erotic verse from your nipple,” his thumb rubbed across the closest peak, “to your quim,” he said. His voice dropped to a low rumble.

                “And then, you could paint _me_.” He slipped one hand up to cradle her head and press her lips against his.

                “You just like it on the bottom, boyo,” she said when she surfaced for air. “But… like… for real? You want to write erotic verse from my nipples to my...” she was already blushing, even as she couldn’t say the word.

                Apparently he could purr. Just like that.

***

                He found the gold paint easily enough – but finding edible gold paint was much harder.

                “Do you want me to stand?” she asked, nervousness clear in her voice.

                He shrugged and gave her a reassuring smile.

               “Maybe I should sit,” she said.

               He grinned.

               “I could lie down…”

                “Relax, Donna, please,” he said, stirring the paint with a spoon. He was as naked as she, in his kitchen. Warmth kept them here as the slow combustion stove was in this room. She was so jumpy he had to do something to ease her. “Sit here,” he said, and nodded at the chair next to him. She sat, her whole body quivering at contact with the cold plastic.

                “This is a brush of human hair,” he said, stirring with his left and picking the brush up with his right.

                “Human hair!” she gasped.

                “Hey, calm down!” he said, flashing his grin at her. “A lover gave it to me once – a beautiful Japanese man I met in the third dimension of the Thylene planet.  We spent a weekend together,” he flicked her nose with the fat tip. She blinked. He drew it along his own chin, to check the softness and feel. Still as lustrous as the day Isamu had cut the tuft from his waist length hair.

                Jack had been honoured by the ceremony and presentation, and had fallen to his knees. Isamu had kissed his tears away, and then sent him from the planet before returning to the Thylene war and falling in battle. He brushed it against his lips in memory, and in thank you, before he flicked her nose with it again. She giggled, and leaned back.

                “No no, no,” he said and leaned forwards. “Feel this,” and he flicked her jaw in a row of tiny little flashes, the pointed end tickling her skin. She giggled again, but he wanted a good solid laugh. He threw the brush to the table and let go of the spoon; then turned to her quickly to wrap her up in his arms. All he got was another giggle.

              “Ooo, you are cold!” he said, pressing more of him against her. “Maybe I should stoke the fires a bit,” he ran one hand down to the curve of her buttock, then over her thigh. His own frozen fingertip rested on the top of her mons. He could feel the heat of her blush, partially since it was her favourite erotic touch, and partially because the harsh light of the kitchen was not the most private of spaces.  His torso burned with heat, and she stared back into his eyes with intensity.

               “I am determined to paint you, you know,” he said.

              “I’m not exactly arguing with you about it,” she pointed out. “Hurry up, in fact. That brush of yours has convinced me this might be a good idea.” He was the one giving a good solid laugh now, and he returned to stirring the paint while holding onto her. Finally he decided it was ready.

             “Stand here,” he told her. “Next to the fire. We can turn you around like a roast on a spit,” he said, biting his lip at the suggestion as he pulled his chair closer to her.

             “You were totally not thinking food then,” she gave him a smoky glance. He shook his head and grinned. He dipped the brush into the pot of paint, and stirred to ensure the strands were fully soaked. He directed her to lift her arms with a flourish of his brush before beginning with a long, flowing curve under her left breast.

             She caught her breath, bit her lip.

             Another sweeping curve under the other breast, and then a third along the line of her ribs. He had already decided he would use Isamu’s language, with its flowing serifs and spirals to write messages along her body, and he settled into work. A spiral around her navel, followed by a dotted and crossed circle was the word for ‘committed’. On the flat of her belly below the spiral he wrote ‘master,’ and then he looked up to her eyes and smiled. He waved the brush in the air, to indicate she should spin. She stared at him, her green eyes huge with something intense.

             “Turn around, Donna,” he said, finding his voice husky. He swallowed thickly. She nodded, mute, her eyes on the brush.

             Presented with her buttocks, he considered what to write. He rested his free hand on the small of her back, feeling the play of bones and muscle, the dimples just above her ass. Her whole body was curve after curve, round and womanly and ever fascinating. Every time he found himself here, he never wanted to leave, never wanted to be anywhere else. He started to write, without  thought.

            ‘Love,’ spiralled across her back, the wings of the last sign curving around her waist. She gasped with his brush strokes, and her breathing made the words writhe. Something kept him going; something drew the brush on and on, and he closed his eyes as his traitorous hands spelled out trouble for anyone to see.

            “Multiple lives,” her ass cheek said. “Multiple loves,” said the other.  He opened his eyes to read his own writing, and then rested his head against the heat of her skin, right in the middle of ‘Love’. He’d never wanted to love her, but maybe be with her when she was magnificent. If she let him.

             “Jack?” she whispered, trying to peer over her own back. “Are you finished? Can we fuck now? Because if you don’t fuck me right this minute, I’m going to – “

            He never found out what she would do, because he turned her around and she straddled his thighs, and all rational thought was impossible.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta Mynxii


End file.
